


Last Man Standing

by MusicalLuna



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hiding Medical Issues, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, Not Marvel Cinematic Universe Phase Two Compliant, Poison, Self-Sacrificing Steve Rogers, Stabbing, Steve Rogers Feels, Team Bonding, Team as Family, Teambuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-11-29 18:15:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11446347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalLuna/pseuds/MusicalLuna
Summary: Steve gets hit a little harder than he initially thought, but he's going to handle it on his own because that's what his team needs from him. Right?





	Last Man Standing

**Author's Note:**

> Canon-typical violence, I think. There is blood and description of the acquisition of injuries (stabbing).

 

A lucky shot from one of Crossbones’ lackeys catches Steve between the ribs and everything goes downhill from there.

The blade they get him with has jagged back-angled serrations along both edges so it hurts more coming out than it did going in. A short bark of pain slips from his mouth and Thor says, “You were hit?” driving that same lackey into the ground so hard they don’t get back up again.

“I’m fine,” Steve says breathlessly, pressing a hand down over the wound and grimacing at the vicious throb he gets in reply. It’s deep—feels like lightning crackling at the base of his spine—but it’s nothing the serum won’t be able to fix in a week or so. It won’t be fun, but he’ll be fine. “I’m good,” he repeats.

Thor laughs. “Then we go back into the fray!”

A coupla lackeys later and Steve is ready to bet good money there was some kind of poison on the knife, because the wound hurts like nothing Steve’s ever felt before. He’s sweating rivers and the cut itself is like molten barbed wire around his viscera.

“Cap?” Clint calls, and Steve sucks in a breath, forces the pain to the back of his mind.

“Just needed a breather,” he replies and Clint snorts.

Steve doesn’t take another hit like that, but he’s sluggish, and takes a lot more of the incidental stuff he can normally avoid. Crossbones nearly breaks his arm by the time it’s all said and done.

But Steve does his job and the adrenaline helps him push through.

Once the fighting’s over and S.H.I.E.L.D. steps in to take a seething, spitting Brock Rumlow away, Steve doesn’t have to move so much, and it’s enough like relief to carry him through everything else.

Debriefing scheduled for 1100 tomorrow, return to the Tower and see that Natasha has her knife-wounds treated, check that Clint’s being treated right by the docs, and see for himself that Tony hasn’t sustained any injuries in the fight. He also makes sure Thor has something to eat and that Bruce has been updated on how the fight went and how everyone’s doing. It can be hard sitting on the sidelines, Steve knows.

“What about you?” Natasha asks, while she’s getting stitches sewn in to the soft inside of her arm.

Steve smiles tiredly at her. “I’ll take a shower to clean up and the serum will take care of the rest.”

Then everything’s taken care of and all that’s left is for Steve to go back to his room and sit down.

The knife-wound in his side is still somewhere on the verge of excruciating. The barbed wire sensation has crept down into his hips and up into his chest and now that there’s nothing else to focus on, it’s overwhelming. Steve groans when he lowers himself down into one of the armchairs in the living room. He’s kinda dizzy, actually.

Maybe he should have gone to medical.

It’s just that, to the team, he’s Captain America, not Steve Rogers, and Captain America doesn’t get injured. He doesn’t get tired, or sick, or sad. He’s something to trust in, and Steve knows that these five, maybe more than anyone, need something like that to believe in. So he can’t make a fuss over something small. Captain America doesn’t fuss.

The longer he sits here, the less energetic he gets, so Steve forces himself to sit up and he unzips the suit with clumsy fingers. Blood from the wound has crusted into the fabric, sticking it to his body. The only thing to do is tear it free and Steve doesn’t stifle his yell in the privacy of his suite.

The sudden white hot flare of pain makes his vision wash out for a minute.

When it comes back, he chokes down the lump in his throat and pries the uniform top off, dropping it carelessly on the floor next to the chair.

He’s bleeding again in earnest now, blood that’s bright even in the dim light of his unlit suite pouring from a jagged gash between his sixth and seventh ribs.

Steve puts his hand over it and grunts as he presses down, letting his eyes slip shut. He’s too tired for anything better. Once he’s had some rest…

“Wow, this is unacceptable on about a million different levels,” Tony says and Steve’s eyes snap open again.

The lights aren’t off anymore and the world does a dangerous wobbly turn around Steve and it’s only Thor’s grip on his shoulder that keeps him from toppling right out of the chair. Clint, Bruce, and Natasha are all there, too.

Steve is mortified. “What—how did you get in here?”

Tony gives him an extremely under-impressed look. “Uh, built the place, hello. And JARVIS has an override for medical emergencies.”

Tony glowers significantly at the hand Steve is using to cup his injury, the way someone might cover their privates if caught with their pants down.

“I’m fine,” Steve protests, and stands up to illustrate his point.

His knees give out before he gets fully upright.

Clint and Thor are quick to grab him, so he doesn’t fall far, but the dizziness increases exponentially and Steve groans quietly as his stomach threatens to force itself up and out. It’s so much worse than the Cyclone.

“Wow,” Clint says, “you have an even more lax definition of fine than I do. Kudos.”

“Jesus, this chair is soaked in blood,” Bruce says, faintly alarmed, and all at once they’re deadly serious.

“Thor, get him in the middle of the floor,” Tony orders.

Natasha darts ahead to shove the coffee table out of the way as Steve’s hefted up in Thor’s grip. He wants to protest, but if he focuses on anything other than trying not to throw up, it really will be Coney Island all over again.

Coney Island was more fun though.

Thor lays him down gingerly on the floor, like he’s breakable. Clint sticks a pillow under his head while Bruce puts his fingers on Steve’s wrist and starts checking his vitals, eyes darting over Steve’s body.

“That’s a nasty wound,” Clint says nervously and Bruce nods.

“It doesn’t look right, there should be signs of healing by now. At the very least the bleeding should have stopped.”

“There was something on the knife,” Steve says, and instead of calming them, that only seems to make them tenser. But that explains it, he doesn’t understand why—

“What the hell do you mean there was something on the knife?” Tony demands.

Steve shrugs and then goes tense, gritting his teeth as pain ricochets its way up his torso. “Dunno. Poison or something. Didn’t feel right. The serum’ll flush it out.”

Natasha’s eyes have gone tight, her mouth pressed flat and trembling.

“I just need rest,” Steve says, trying to make them understand. “I’m fine.”

“Stop saying you’re fine,” Tony snaps, “you are not fine.  You are the opposite of fine and if you say ‘fine’ again I’m going to sock you in the face.”

Steve blinks at him. “That seems counterproductive.”

Tony looks torn between murderous intentions and wanting to laugh.

“You said you trusted us Steve,” Natasha says, and her voice is hoarse, hurt.

Steve frowns, bewildered. “I do. I—I do trust you.”

“Then why wouldn’t you  _tell_  us?”

They’re all looking at him now, wearing that same expression of hurt and Steve drags his eyes away, bites his tongue to keep his mouth from trembling. “I can’t.”

“Then you do not trust us,” Thor says. He sounds miserable.

“I do!” Steve insists. “I just—” He covers his face and takes a shaky breath. “I don't trust _me._  I have to be better than that. I can't—”

“What, show us you’re human?” Tony demands. “Dammit, Steve, we already know that! We’ve seen you with bedhead and with pasta sauce on your face and  _you’re a fucking idiot, Steve!_ ”

Bruce puts a hand on Tony’s shoulder, gently pushing him back because he’s up on his knees leaning over Steve now, his face red. “What Tony means is it doesn’t matter to us Steve. We aren't following Captain America, we're following Steve Rogers. You have nothing to prove to us. And when you get hurt, it hurts us to see you like that.”

“You mother hen us to death,” Clint mutters, picking at the frayed hem of his jeans. “It sucks that you won’t let us do it back.”

Very quietly, Steve says, “I didn’t know you saw it like that.”

“It is very difficult to know the minds of others unless one holds a dialogue,” Thor says and Steve winces. “You decided what was best for us without our input. A sound strategy requires sound information, does it not?”

Natasha takes his hand and squeezes it, mouth curving up on one side in a crooked smile. “We don’t need a role model, Steve, so how about you give us what we do need: a friend.”

Steve nods, throat very tight. “I— I’ll try.”

“That’s all we ask,” Bruce says, squeezing his shoulder. “Now let’s get you properly patched up, huh?”


End file.
